Crimes in Rhyme
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: There is a series of very strange crimes plaguing Cascade, and no one can seem to find the key to solving them. Maybe Blair and Jim can come up with a solution?


Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This was originally written around 2007. Don't expect technology to be at a 2017 level!

Thank you to Sarai, loveagoodstory101, sisturnick, Kathy and saissa, who have commented so nicely on other Sentinel stories I've posted! I hope you enjoy this one, as well.

 **Crimes in Rhyme**

By

EvergreenDreamweaver

"Jim, there's got to be some explanation or other..." The words trailed off, ending in a yawn of enormous proportions.

"Maybe so, but it's not likely we're going to figure it out tonight. So let's let it drop for a little while, huh? It's almost one a.m."

Jim Ellison, senior detective in the Major Crimes Division of the Cascade Police Department, unlocked the door to the loft apartment he shared with his partner and best friend, and propelled said partner into their home with a slight shove.

"I'd like to let it drop. But it just keeps hammering at my brain like a deranged woodpecker, man!"

Ellison regarded the speaker dourly as Blair shrugged off his coat and hung it up, then set about removing his holstered gun. "Sandburg, I could have gone all night without that image."

"Sorry." Sandburg wandered aimlessly in the direction of the kitchen. "You want anything to drink...or eat?"

"No, I'm still full from all the pizza," Ellison replied, meaning the pizzas they had shared with several other detectives earlier in the evening, during a task force meeting. He mimicked Blair's actions, removing his coat and weapon. "I think I'm just gonna head for bed, Chief, but you go ahead if you're hungry."

"I'm not," Blair admitted, and moved towards the living room. "It's just that I don't think I'll be able to sleep yet, and I'm looking for something mindless to do to unwind. Eating would serve the purpose."

Jim had to chuckle at that; he knew exactly what his roommate meant. "Give me five minutes in the bathroom and then why don't you take a shower before you go to bed? That mindless enough for you?"

"Oughta be." Blair plopped down into the large chair in the living room and stretched his legs out straight, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Bathroom's all yours," he added with a vague gesture in that general direction.

It was seven minutes, not five, but even so, Jim wasn't surprised to find Blair sound asleep when he exited the bathroom. He'd known Sandburg was exceedingly tired, despite his protestations that he didn't think he'd be able to sleep – although he'd hoped the younger man might manage to actually make it to his _bed_ before he gave up the fight.

"Sandburg." Jim hovered over his sleeping partner, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Mph."

"Sandburg." A slightly harder shake.

"Hmm-mmm..."

"Chief, c'mon, wake up and go to bed." This time Ellison lightly patted Blair's cheek.

"'m 'wake..."

"Uh-huh. I can see that. Hey, I'm going to bed now. I suggest you do too."

Sandburg forced his eyes open. "'kay...Hey, turn on th' noise gen'rat'rs. Don' wanna keep you 'wake."

"All right, I will, although I doubt that you'll keep me awake. Come on, Junior, quick pit stop and then bed. Forget the shower. If you try that now you'll fall asleep standing up, and fall down and kill yourself." Jim tugged Blair to his feet and supported him momentarily when he swayed.

"Uh-huh-huh...h'okay. G'night." Blair yawned widely again and shuffled off towards the bathroom.

Jim grinned as he ascended the stairs. They went through this routine or a similar one at least once a week, and the sight of his Guide in sleepy-toddler mode never failed to amuse him.

###

 _Three a.m._

Blair tossed and turned, his mind whirling from topic to topic like leaves scattered by a brisk wind. He had slept deeply for a couple of hours, only to awaken with troubling thoughts of the case he and Jim had been working on the night before. He had the feeling that he was on the brink of some sort of breakthrough...but what?

He forced himself to lie still, to stop flouncing from one side of his bed to the other. If he didn't quiet down, he'd wake Jim, and his roommate needed his rest.

 _And you don't?_ a little voice inquired inside his head.

 _Not like Jim does; I can go without a night's sleep and it won't affect my job all that much, but when he's tired it's too easy for him to zone or spike_ , he answered back smartly, and turned a pillow over once again in a fruitless effort to make it so comfortable he'd instantly fall into slumber. Naturally, it didn't work.

Tiredly, he started going over it all again; the strange, seemingly-unconnected string of...of...well, some were crimes and some were misdemeanors and some were harassment and some were malicious mischief, but one inexplicable similarity had come to light and caused the Cascade Police Department to group them all together and wonder if they Weren't. Somehow. Connected. The trick was to find out the how and why – and who.

#####

It had been going on now for more than six weeks – at least, as they tracked things, as possibilities occurred to the various departments that their oddball cases just might be related to the stretch of _weirdness_ that was affecting Cascade.

Ellison and Sandburg had come late to the party, so to speak; the incidents hadn't shown up on the Major Crimes docket...until the two most recent – and most serious – had occurred. Then and only then had departments started comparing notes – and a lieutenant down in Vice who had known Jim from his time there had made a suggestion to his captain.

"How about we run this stuff by that hot-shot team in Major Crimes, Ellison and his partner – that hippie-dippy guy, Sandburg. They _specialize_ in weird – or so I've heard."

So Ellison and Sandburg were duly requested and started attending the meetings – and were immediately frustrated by the fact that some of the crime scenes were six weeks out of date. Even a Sentinel wouldn't be able to pick up anything there. They tried, and Jim did his best, stretching his enhanced senses to their limits – but with scant success.

The one thing that connected them all – and this had just recently been discovered to be a commonality – was the presence of a tiny silver or gold sticker of a capital letter G somewhere in the vicinity of each incident. Forensics had found nothing on any of them; each was merely a minute piece of paper. But almost always there.

#####

He couldn't remember all the different incidents, there were too many, but he could remember some of them. Blair concentrated, trying to line them up neatly in his mind; mentally wrote them on a chalkboard.

The sculling crew at Rainier University, whose watercraft had had holes punched in it. It had been thought to be the work of a competing sculling team, sabotaging their rivals' equipment.

The clock on the historic tower of the old Cascade City Hall, now a museum, its hands glued and shellacked into a permanent time and its chimes silenced. Chalked up to vandalism.

Blair frowned up into the darkness, staring at the ceiling of his room. He wondered if Jim was asleep above him – hoped devoutly that he was. Jim had _said_ he'd use his white-noise generators, so Blair's restlessness shouldn't be disturbing him. But still, Blair worried about it. He considered taking care of his Sentinel a very important job, one that outranked their police work – an attitude that sometimes irked their captain, Simon Banks!

Something was nagging at his mind; something about all these weird cases. It wasn't that they were all alike, but...there was something...if he could only put his finger on it. And what did that little letter G have to do with anything, anyhow?

 _Get back to listing them, Sandburg; maybe it'll trigger something._

There had been a rash of Peeping Tom reports, and a couple of indecent exposures in an affluent section of Cascade. Disturbing to the neighborhood residents, but considered relatively harmless by law enforcement agencies.

Much more unsettling was the animal mutilation, with young dogs' tails slashed off and a cat drowned in an ornamental backyard wishing well. The pet owners were understandably outraged; the veterinarians' association was aghast; the Cascade Humane Society was up in arms. And when other, more unusual pets than cats or dogs started to disappear...yes, people were growing nervous.

The odd – _very_ odd – annoying, anonymous telephone calls to the conductor of the Cascade Symphonic Orchestra and first-chair trumpeter. They didn't seem threatening, exactly...but... _WHY_? And were they just a prelude to something worse happening to those two individuals, or were there going to be more members of the group targeted? There hadn't been any 'G' letters associated with those, though. How could you stick a paper letter to a telephone call?

And the crimes were beginning to escalate. There had been an arson-caused fire in a low-income apartment building recently...and two children and their babysitter had died – while their parents were at work.

That had upped the stakes, and while the police officers had tended to joke about their oddball cases, they weren't joking any more. They were acting with grim purpose now.

And the latest – which had happened just two days before. Two elite members of a well-known, high-end escort service had been abducted in broad daylight by masked attackers, seized as they were getting out of a taxicab and whisked away before the startled driver could react – and there had been a tiny silver paper "G" lying on the floor of the cab, when the police arrived. The owner of the escort service said she had not as yet received any ransom calls or notes...

 _Fires...kidnapping...musicians...animal abuse...boats...Peeping Toms..._ Blair stopped his mental list. _The people who reported that said that it was some little guy in a long nightshirt peering in their windows...nightshirt. 'Upstairs, downstairs, in a nightgown...'_

'MY GOD, THAT'S IT!"

Sitting bolt upright in bed, Blair hastily clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the shout that had burst out. Too late – he heard bedsprings creak above him, and then the soft thud of Jim's feet hitting the hardwood floor.

"I'm sorry, Jim," he hissed in contrition, knowing the Sentinel would hear the apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, but—" He gasped at the sudden idea he had had. "That's it, it's gotta be it..."

The door to his room cracked open, revealing a tousled, sleepy-eyed Jim Ellison wearing a hastily-grabbed robe over his boxers. "Chief, are you having nightmares?" He blinked as Blair switched on the bedside lamp.

"No! No, not a nightmare – but I think I may have figured out what's linking the cases!" Sandburg babbled frantically, scooting up onto his knees in bed, with the covers puddled about him. He shoved his long hair back, impatiently brushing it away from his face.

Jim's gaze narrowed, the sleepy look disappearing with surprising rapidity. He moved into the room and sat down on the end of Blair's bed "What?"

"Nursery rhymes!"

If Blair was expecting immediate comprehension and praise, he didn't get it. Jim just stared at him in bewilderment. "Huh? Whaddya mean, nursery rhymes?"

"It fits – they fit!" Sandburg insisted. "The guy running around the neighborhood in the nightshirt – that's right outta Mother Goose. And the other ones – I know they'll all match; I'm sure of it!"

The confusion was morphing into Ellison's customary sharp blue gaze as Jim processed the idea, and he nodded slowly. "Okay, I'll buy into it for now – but can you be sure sure?"

Blair sighed. "Not off the top of my head, man; I majored in anthropology, not Kid Lit! But give me a little while to look up the rhymes – a Mother Goose book, maybe...must be an online site..." He moved to scramble out of bed, heading for his desk and the laptop computer on it, but Ellison put out restraining hands and held him in place.

"Not now, Chief – it's three o'clock in the morning, for God's sake! It can wait until you get a little sleep, can't it?"

Sandburg was vibrating with nervous tension, obviously torn between the desire to start looking up nursery rhymes and finding the key to the puzzle, and giving in to the pragmatic practicality of his roommate's advice. "Well, I guess, but...what if we don't have any time to waste? What if—"

"It's been going on for weeks, Chief. A few more hours aren't going to make a whole lot of difference." Jim pushed him backwards, gentling him with soothing pats. "And you'll be able to concentrate on it better when you've had some rest."

Blair unwillingly acceded to the persuasion, letting Jim straighten out the covers and pull them up. His mind was still buzzing with the revelation, but although his curiosity and detective instincts were aroused, the tension of trying to figure out the conundrum had eased and he suddenly felt enervated. He yawned widely and let his eyes close. "Don't let me sleep past six," he murmured, and heard Ellison chuckle quietly.

"All right. Sleep fast, partner."

#####

Blair blinked his eyes open and stared fuzzily at the clock. He squinted in disbelief and pushed himself up on an elbow to lean closer. Its bright red digital readout still announced that it was 8:15.

"Damn you, Jim! You promised!" He shoved the covers back, mentally composing a chewing-out of his roommate for letting him oversleep – and then paused, hearing the rush of the shower water in the bathroom. If Jim was just taking a shower now, evidently _he_ had overslept as well! Blair sighed and leaned back on the pillows briefly, admitting to himself that he really did feel much better for the extra sleep time.

Climbing out of bed and pulling on his robe, he went to the kitchen and filled the coffee maker with water, knowing that this would trigger a change in the shower water temperature, and would alert the Sentinel that Blair was up. As he expected, almost immediately the shower was shut off. Blair started the coffee brewing, then hastily ducked back into his room to grab some clean clothes, and was waiting patiently in the hallway when Jim exited the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and a cloud of steam.

"Chief, I meant to—"

"I know, I know. You're forgiven. We both needed the sleep," Blair interrupted, grinning cheerfully. He ducked past his partner, waving one hand about to try and dispel the billows of steam. "I'll hurry."

###

They didn't discuss Blair's nocturnal epiphany over their hasty breakfast, knowing that it would probably be the main topic of conversation for the rest of the day. Instead, they shared the morning paper, skimming through articles and the comics page as they drank coffee and orange juice, and consumed soft-boiled eggs and toast with strawberry jam.

All too soon they were donning jackets, badges and weaponry and heading out the door of the loft – but with a little more hope in their hearts than they'd come home with the night before.

#####

"I guess we ought to call another task force meeting, huh?" Blair tightened the leather tie holding his hair back, and bent to switch on his computer. "I'm going to start looking for copies of as many rhymes as I can find, and see what works."

Jim nodded and glanced in his the inbox on his desk, checking for anything new which might have arrived overnight. "I'll send an e-mail around. Let's shoot for some time this afternoon; that way you'll have some time for research." He paused, his eyes somber as he gazed at his partner. "You're pretty sure about this, aren't you?"

Blair met the look levelly. "I'm pretty sure."

"'Pretty sure' from you means we take it seriously," Jim assured him, and squeezed his arm briefly. "I'll handle our other stuff. Get crackin', Chief!"

Jim phrased his e-mail very carefully, saying merely that an idea had occurred to Sandburg that could possibly be a link among the incidents, and that it would be explained at the meeting. The replies he received indicated that everyone was avid for any sort of break in the case, and he suspected that Blair would be preaching to a receptive audience, no matter how bizarre his theory sounded at first blush!

#####

"So what's Sandburg got up his sleeve? Sorry I missed the meeting yesterday." An attractive dark-haired woman strode into the meeting room, and both detectives looked up and smiled at her entrance.

"Debra! It's great to see you again!" Blair greeted Arson Inspector Debra Reeves with a bright smile which widened as he watched her exchange warm hugs with Jim. "Just not in these circumstances," Sandburg added more soberly. He continued to distribute manila file folders to each empty place at the conference table.

"It's never good when I get called into a police investigation," she agreed, and sat down, picking up the folder curiously. "So what have you found out?"

Blair grinned a little sheepishly. "Why don't we wait until everyone gets here, and that way I'll only have to go over it once, okay?"

Debra nodded and set down the papers, but sighed. "You do know that's a really cruel thing to do to an inquisitive woman, don't you?"

The rest of the task force members straggled in over the next few minutes and took their seats; Blair and Jim repeated the 'please wait until everyone is here,' request several times, and despite some eye-rolling, the police officers complied. They were all too anxious about the case to argue much.

When all were assembled, Blair stepped to the head of the table and tapped gently on it for attention.. All eyes turned to him – some expressions respectful, some sardonic. He caught Jim's eye and was encouraged by the Sentinel's smile and slight nod of encouragement.

"What I'm about to propose," he began, "is going to sound ridiculous; I admit it. It's far-fetched and difficult to believe. I find it hard to swallow myself, and I'm the one who came up with the idea!" He waited for the appreciative chuckles to die away. "After you hear me out, if you want to tell me I'm an idiot and my theory is useless, fine. I'll accept that. But I believe things fit, and it's the only points of connection any of us has come up with – so far." He gestured to the folders on the table. "As you will see, my theory is that these incidents, from the minor, insignificant to the major devastations – are all connected to nursery rhymes. Mother Goose rhymes."

Immediately, derisive sniggers and a few outright guffaws replaced the sympathetic chuckles, and although Blair tried to keep his face placid, tight lines appeared at the corners of his sea-blue eyes, and his lips compressed. "Please, just read the data in the file folder before you reject the idea completely," he implored.

"What've you been sniffing, Sandburg?" came from Tom Chapman of Animal Control , a burly man with close-cropped graying hair and a 'desk paunch,' who hid considerable intelligence and empathy under a façade of bluster. "Maybe you and your theories ought to go back to the nursery, if that's the best you can come up with." Other muttered quips and comments followed, although a few of the police officers – and Debra Reeves – were opening their folders and beginning to peruse the contents, each naturally looking for the ones with which they were most familiar.

Before the ridicule could get out of hand, Jim Ellison was on his feet. "Do you have a better idea to present, Chapman?" he inquired silkily, and Chapman flushed, shaking his head. "You requested that we be included in this; if you've changed your minds, say so." More head-shakes, and Jim smiled grimly. "At least give Sandburg the courtesy of looking at the data, why don't you?" He scanned the table with a cool eye, and slowly his implied order was obeyed. He resumed his seat, his enhanced hearing catching his Guide's whispered 'Thanks, Jim,' as he did so.

"As you can see," Blair began to explain after a few moments of silence, "I've listed the incidents, their particulars – and across from each, I've put a possible nursery rhyme that corresponds most closely to it. As I'm sure all of you are aware, nursery rhymes were often created as political satires and jibes, hidden in the 'safe' confines of children's songs. 'Ring Around the Rosy,' for instance, is said to be connected with the Black Plague. 'Old King Cole' was referring to an actual monarch. Little Miss Muffet was supposed to be about Mary, Queen of Scots. This is established fact. There's also one that we don't hear much here in the U.S., but is very familiar in England: 'Remember, Remember the Fifth of November,' which refers to Guy Fawkes Day, and the attempt to blow up the English Parliament." Sandburg was doing what he did so well now, teaching and explaining, and his colleagues were listening intently – absorbed, as Jim had known they would be if they gave Blair half a chance.

"So you think that someone with a political agenda is doing these things...?" Lieutenant Zielinski from Vice asked uncertainly.

Blair shook his head. "Not necessarily. I'm just proposing that someone – or a group of someones – is using these rhymes for the basis for the crimes. Why is yet to be determined. Oh – and I've also listed some 'possibles' – verses that could possibly be used, but haven't shown up yet, that we're aware."

The task force members were all reading now, and stifled – or not so stifled – exclamations and muttered epithets were heard as they found correlations again and again.

"The cat being drowned – and the puppies! 'Ding Dong Bell,' and 'What are Little Boys Made Of?'! Suddenly Tom Chapman wasn't laughing any more. "And, my God! The pet Vietnamese potbellied pig that disappeared...'Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son." His ruddy face paled. "Sandburg – do you think someone ATE it?"

"I hope not," was all Blair said. Someone down at the far end of the table made a gagging noise.

Jim had to duck his head and put a hand over his mouth to hide his amusement at the abrupt turnaround of the team members' attitudes. They'd been willing to make fun of Blair and his ideas until the proof was shoved into their faces, but now they were rapidly jumping on the bandwagon. _Attaboy, Chief! You showed 'em!_

"The symphony conductor and the trumpet player – it correlates to 'Old King Cole' and 'Little Boy Blue,'" marveled Linda Morales, of the Special Victims Unit. "Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn...And that's why the cast members of _CATS_ were attacked outside the Cascade Playhouse, and pieces of their costumes stolen! 'Three Little Kittens who lost their mittens!'"

"The clock on the old city hall!" interjected Earl Gaines, who represented the Gang Intervention team. "The hands are glued at one o'clock, aren't they? Hell, why didn't anyone figure this out before now?"

"The fire," Debra Reeves choked out. "The fire that killed the children! 'Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children will burn...'. Oh God!" Tears filled her eyes.

"The Rainier sculling crew – that was 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat, wasn't it?" muttered Kevin Butler, one of the patrol officers who had responded to that original call.

"The one about the Queen of Hearts, I don't quite get...OH! The call girls – tarts! Someone stole the tarts. And Madelyn Clarke, the madam, she's the 'Queen.'" Chuck Clayton from Robbery/Assault slapped his forehead in a 'd'oh!' gesture. "Sandburg, how'd you come up with these things?"

"I read a lot of Mother Goose this morning on the 'net," Blair admitted with a wry grin.

"And he's closer to kindergarten than the rest of us," Debra teased, blinking back her tears and smiling.

"There are a lot that could still be used," Jim had been staring down at the list of rhymes as yet unmatched with a crime, his jaw tightening "For instance, 'London Bridge is falling down.' Suppose someone blows up a bridge or an overpass?" Groans greeted his question. "Personally, I've had way too much of that already," he sighed.

'Bye Baby Bunting' – child abandonment or abduction..." someone murmured.

"Georgie Porgie – 'kissed the girls and made them cry' – sexual assault." It was Zielinski from Vice.

"Little Miss Muffet – someone could attack using poisonous spiders!" Sgt. Morales shuddered.

"Do you agree with me that this is a viable theory?" Blair asked gently. "There is also the little paper letter G which has been found pretty consistently at crime scenes. G for...goose. Mother Goose."

There were nods and muttered assents around the table now. They might think it was weird and crazy – but they couldn't deny that it made sense, in a horrible, twisted way.

"So what are you thinking; we've got a demented kindergarten teacher doing this?" Chuck Clayton asked, frowning.

Jim shook his head. "There's too many instances for one person to be doing it. And we know that there were at least two involved in the abduction the other day."

"One mastermind, though?" Clayton persisted. "With a cadre of people working for him – or her?"

"Could be," Blair conceded. "And as you have seen, once you get the idea, it's easy to fit crimes to rhymes – or vice versa. You don't have to have a degree in literature to do it."

"I'm thinking maybe it's group or club – Gaines, I know you checked your guys and you're pretty sure it's not gang activity, but that doesn't rule out other sorts of organizations—" Jim began.

"You mean like initiation rites?" Butler interjected, and Ellison nodded assent. "Kids? I could see kids for some of the smaller stuff...but the fire? The abduction of the escort girls?"

"Maybe started with kids and expanded...But you think it's working up into something big...?" That was Gaines, looking worried.

"The arson wasn't a minor thing...but maybe...Maybe it wasn't supposed to result in deaths and something went gravely wrong," Reeves sighed.

"Maybe an attack on the mayor – or the governor?" Zielinski volunteered, gazing down at the folder in front on him. "'There Was a Crooked Man!'" Subdued chuckles greeted this observation.

"It's very possible," Blair replied more soberly. "Or – does anyone know; are there any major political figures coming to Cascade any time soon?" He looked around the table, eyebrows raised inquisitively, but all he got in reply were headshakes and muttered 'no's'. "Well, let's check into that possibility, okay?"

"Don't we need to be lookin' for those kidnapped girls before we go off tryin' to figure out what they might do later?" Gaines queried testily.

"Of course we need to look for them," Ellison agreed, "but since it's a kidnapping, you know what's going to happen now, don't you?"

"Feds," someone growled, and was greeted with a chorus of groans.

"Feds," Jim confirmed. "It's now a federal case, and they'll take over the investigation. So we need to get this in gear ASAP."

"I had a thought – not about the kidnapping, but before; we were talking about initiation rites, and what Earl said about starting small and expanding," Zielinski said. "Suppose someone started with the little, silly stuff, and enlisted kids to do it. Paid 'em some small amount, maybe. Probably younger than college students – teens love things like phone pranks, especially around the age of 13 or so. High school or college kids would get a kick out of the 'flasher' pranks, and that sort. Then, as the crimes get more serious, whoever is organizing all this has figured out who might be willing to keep on working for him. Her. Them. Damn, I hate talking in the abstract like this!"

Sandburg perched on the corner of the conference table, nodding vigorously. "That makes a lot of sense, Mike." He scanned the table, making eye contact with the others one by one. "Could we check with the school liaison officers on this, maybe; see if they've noticed anything? At least down to junior high level, if not elementary. And Earl, you know the way kids get 'recruited,' maybe you could ask your guys again and see if any of them were contacted, or their younger siblings were...?"

The task force was exhibiting emphatic agreement now, and Lt. Zielinski raised one finger. "I'll see about dealing with the Fibbies, unless it's going to Major Crimes," he offered. "Since it was an escort service, Vice handled it initially."

"Thanks," Jim replied. "We'll start checking into the possibilities of important visitors or upcoming special events that might be targeted, how's that?"

"If possible, let's meet again tomorrow afternoon to compare notes," Clayton suggested.

The meeting broke up and the officers gathered up their file folders and began to disperse. Earl Gaines remained behind and approached Jim and Blair with a wide grin on his dark, handsome face.

"My grandmama's been askin' about you two. She wants to know when you're gonna come over to her place for dinner. Sunday afternoons, she always cooks a big dinner."

Both Sandburg and Ellison smiled. "Tell her to just pick a date, man!" Blair answered for them both. "If we're not called out, we'll be there!" He had loved Lela LeCroix from their first encounter, years before.

Gaines chuckled. "She wants to feed you Southern fried chicken and all the fixin's to fatten you up," he said. "Says you're both too skinny!"

Jim patted his flat stomach ruefully. "That won't last long if we eat at your grandmother's table!"

"Hey, I'm not nearly as skinny as I was back when she met me!" Blair protested.

Laughing, Earl took his leave, promising to set up a dinner date for the detectives with his grandmother as soon as possible.

#####

"Nursery rhymes." Captain Banks glared at his detectives balefully. "Of all the tom-fool notions..." This was the first the captain had heard of Sandburg's theory, since he had been out of the office most of the day in various meetings.

"Simon, it fits," Blair said drearily. "Nothing else does that we can come up with. And I don't like it any better than you do."

"I know, I know." Banks rubbed his face irritably and stuck his cigar into one corner of his mouth. He sighed. "Well, it isn't much more bizarre than a lot of your cases, I suppose. What do you need from me?" he added, in a much less belligerent tone.

"Have you gotten any heads-up about political or otherwise important people coming to Cascade soon?" Ellison asked. "We figure that whoever is behind this is building up to something big."

"Or sliding something big into a bunch of smaller, more insignificant stuff," Blair added. "Sort of keep us busy chasing our tails and putting out brushfires, and accomplish...um...something," he finished somewhat lamely. Jim nodded reluctant agreement.

Banks scowled thoughtfully and reached into a desk drawer for some files. "Let's see..." he mused. After leafing through the folders for a few moments, he looked up. "There's a couple of possibilities. A trade delegation arriving from Spain, the Miss Cascade beauty pageant...oh, and a convention of vegetarian chefs."

Blair squinched his eyes shut in concentration. "Can you think of nursery rhymes that fit any of those instances?" he asked. "I'm starting to go blank here."

Simon Banks leaned back in his desk chair and stared meditatively at the ceiling. "As a matter of fact, I can," he said after a moment. "'Mary, Mary Quite Contrary,' 'The Little Nut Tree,' and 'Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater.'"

The looks on his two detectives' faces made Banks laugh. "Remember, I'm a father," he reminded them. "I read more nursery rhymes than you can shake a stick at, when Daryl was little!"

Blair was paging rapidly through his notes. "Mary, Mary...oh! 'Pretty maids all in a row!' Oh yeah, that's the one for the Miss Cascade pageant, all right."

"What's the nut job one?" Ellison inquired.

"Nut tree – although I tend to agree with your opinion," Blair muttered beneath his breath, leafing again to find the poem. "I had a little nut tree...yadda, yadda...oh, I see. 'The King of Spain's daughter came to visit me...' And then it goes on – oh, I don't like this; it's like a challenge! 'I skipped over water, I danced over sea, and all the birds in the air couldn't catch me.'" He looked at his partner. "Do you suppose it's coincidence, or actually means something, as in 'nyaah, nyaah, can't catch me'?"

Ellison snorted and spread his hands in an 'I dunno' gesture. "We'll find that out after we catch 'em, Chief."

"I'm impressed, Simon, that you knew the rhymes!" Sandburg said then. "VERY impressed!"

Banks' grin was both smug and feral. "That's why I'M the captain – and don't you forget it, Sandburg."

"Why would anyone want to disrupt trade relations with Spain? I mean...Spain? Why cause trouble with Spain? Or spoiling a vegetarian chef's convention?" Jim was skimming through the files.

"Fits the rhyme too well to ignore?" Blair offered. "Camouflage?"

"Jim, I know there isn't much to work with..." Banks began, but the Sentinel shook his head dismissively.

"Sir, I'm going to go over some of these, with Sandburg's theory in mind. Might pick up on something. And I want to listen to the 911 tape of someone reporting the fire. And go back over some of the older stuff..." Still studying the file folders meditatively, Ellison got to his feet and wandered towards the door into the bullpen without another word.

Banks' eyebrows elevated, but he caught Sandburg's smiling glance and began to chuckle. "Guess the conversation's over and the Sentinel of Cascade's on the job," he said, and waved Blair out as well. "Dismissed, detective."

#####

"Word's out with my boys," Earl Gaines said that afternoon at the task force meeting. "Anyone approached by someone looking for pranksters to fit rhymes, they'll notify me. They think I'm crazy," he added with a grin, "but they'll do it. Luckily things are fairly relaxed at the moment between the gangs, so they're pretty amenable."

"I listened to the 911 tape this morning," Ellison said, "but all I could pick up was that the caller sounded young – and terrified. Lots of background noise, traffic and things like that, so probably a pay phone. Somewhere near where the fire was, I assume. I suppose there's a chance that it might be the perp, who panicked after starting the fire, but that's a long shot."

"Unfortunately, most 911 callers sound terrified; can't do much with that," Debra Reeves sighed.

"We've got three possibles for upcoming events," Blair remarked, and outlined the beauty pageant, the chefs' convention and the trade delegation visit from Spain. "Ideas, anyone? We can certainly ramp up security for them, but..."

The door to the conference room burst open, and Lieutenant Zielinski strode in. "They're back!" he barked. "The girls from the escort service were just dropped off outside Madelyn Clark's office building!"

A tumult of conversation broke out among the police officers; through the jumble of voices Jim could hear his partner softly chanting, "The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts and vowed he'd steal no more..."

"Someone," Chuck Clayton pronounced, "just might have had a change of heart! This could be a break in the case."

"Or decided to follow through with the whole rhyme," reasoned Linda Morales, who had also heard Sandburg's chant.

"Are the girls all right?" Blair demanded of Zielinski. "They weren't harmed?"

"Apparently," the Vice detective affirmed.

"We need to talk to them before the Feds stick their noses in and ruin things," Ellison said, and got to his feet. "Sandburg and I'll go – if that works for the rest of you...?" he added belatedly, glancing around at his fellow officers.

"Go ahead." Tom Chapman spoke for them all. "Just keep us in the loop if you find out anything, okay?"

"You got it. C'mon, Chief." The Sentinel stalked out of the room without a backward glance, leaving Blair to hastily grab their file folders and scurry after him.

Behind them, amused grins creased the faces of all their colleagues. "He'd drive me nuts; Sandburg's the only person who can put up with him for long," Clayton mumbled.

"Hey, it works for them – let's not rock the boat," Earl Gaines replied, and the others nodded fervent agreement.

#####

"Jim – Jim, for Pete's sake, would you wait up a minute?!" Blair scrambled into the passenger seat of Ellison's pickup, panting. He'd missed the elevator his partner had taken to the parking garage, and had dashed down several flights of stairs in an effort to catch him. "Man, what's the big idea?" he demanded as Ellison cranked the ignition. "You got some reason you don't want me along?!"

Jim sighed and gave him a guilt-ridden glance as he waited to pull into traffic. "No, of course not. I'm sorry, Chief. I guess I did sort of go off half-cocked. It's just...I feel like we're on the edge of something, and..."

"And you don't dare wait around," Blair filled in the rest of the thought, quietly. "You've got some sort of hunch, or an instinctual feeling...I get it, I really do – but you sorta made me look kind of stupid, you know, taking off like that." He flushed uncomfortably. "In front of the others, I mean."

"Aw, hell..." Ellison winced at the discouraged note in his Guide's voice. He was well aware of Blair's diffidence when it came to dealing with their colleagues, knowing the younger man lived with the specter of the dissertation fraud always in the background. "Sandburg – Blair," he amended, "you aren't the one who ended up looking stupid. Believe me; they'll all think you're a saint for putting up with me!"

Sandburg chuckled a little at that remark, knowing it was probably true. "What happened to 'it's been going on for weeks; a few hours won't make any difference'?"

"I'm...not sure," his partner admitted. "I just...it's just a feeling." With anyone else, Ellison would have stubbornly held his own counsel; only to Blair could he confide his uncertainty. "And I don't want them being questioned by the Feds first, anyway, so we need to move on this!"

"Well, never let it be said that I stood in the way of a Sentinel's hunches! Okay, you're forgiven...this time."

Jim gave him a blinding smile. "You know, Chief, sometimes I wonder what I do to deserve you." He paused, still smiling, and watched from the corner of his eye as Blair waited for the expected, teasing putdown tagline. "The rest of the time I know I don't deserve you," Jim finished gently.

Blair's eyes went wide and he gulped. "I – you – really?" Compliments from Jim Ellison were not as rare as they had once been, but still uncommon enough to be cherished. He hastily looked out the side window, blinking rapidly and trying to swallow the lump in his throat.. "D-damn you, Jim, you did that on purpose," he accused in a shaky voice.

"Did what?" Jim sounded amused and entirely calm.

"Got me choked up right before we go into an interview – an interview with call girls, no less! Beautiful, sexy call girls. Now I'll look like...like a dorky kid!"

"Probably," Ellison conceded blandly and glanced over his shoulder before changing lanes. "What's the address we want?"

###

The 'girls' were as beautiful as anticipated, but both of them were still shaken from their experiences, and their veneer of sophistication was cracked. They had been shoved blindfolded out of a car which had immediately sped off into traffic. Madelyn Clarke had called the Cascade PD to report the incident immediately and then taken her employees to her private office.

Although her 'business' was illegal, strictly speaking, Madelyn Clarke was a shrewd and powerful businesswoman, and well known in Cascade. She was also surprisingly unlike the popular conception of a 'madam.' Instead of being lean and tough and forbidding, she was short and cozily rounded in shape, and possessed of an unexpectedly sweet smile – although no one harbored any doubts that she could turn off the charm as quickly as needed. She seemed pleasantly surprised that the officers who showed up to conduct the interview were Ellison and Sandburg, both of whom she had met before – Jim back when he worked Vice; Blair the previous summer on another case. She introduced the girls, and then sat down behind her desk, not exactly intruding on the conversation, but letting the detectives know that she wasn't going to be excluded – and letting her employees know that they weren't going to be abandoned.

Blair and Jim formed a cozy little group with their two witnesses, who sat close together and clutched at each others' hands, reluctant to be interviewed separately. Although they knew it wasn't good procedure to take statements that way, Ellison and Sandburg decided that it was better than nothing, and acceded to the request.

"Miss Girard, let's start with you. How about the basics first: name, address, all that sort of thing." Ellison was using his best 'gentling' smile and attentive manner, hoping to ease the tension and allow his witnesses to relax. "And then we'll see what you can remember about all this. Take your time, and don't be concerned about repeating yourself or having to go back to pick up something you recall later. Then we'll see what Miss Barrett can add." He took out his little notebook and smiled encouragingly.

"I – I don't know if I can be of much help," Rachel Girard said hesitantly, after answering Jim's 'routine' questions. She pushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and nervously chewed her lower lip. "We were grabbed right off the street, where we were waiting for a taxi. I never saw any faces – whoever took us was very careful about that. They were always masked...ski masks, the kind that covers your whole head."

"How many different people did you see, do you recall?"

"There were the two who took us – and another one who helped guard us. And they talked on the phone to other people, but I never saw them, of course."

"We were blindfolded within seconds after we were pulled into the car," put in the other girl, Janelle Barrett, and the detectives nodded. Witnesses had described a black SUV with dark-tinted windows as the vehicle in question; so far it had not been located. "They took off the blindfolds after we reached the...place, wherever it was, but then when we were – when they let us go – they put them back on."

"Can you estimate height or weight for anyone? Male or female? Dark or light skin, that sort of thing? I know you didn't see faces, but their hands, perhaps?"

"All male," Rachel said, more confidently. "Different heights, none of them extremely tall. And they seemed...young," she finished. "The voices weren't very mature. I don't mean little kids," she qualified, "but...youngish. All Caucasian, I think."

Blair was frantically scribbling notes, nodding as these details tallied with their suppositions.

"Can you recall anything about where you were held?" Jim had given up on trying to separate the accounts, and was asking the questions of both young women at once, leaving it to Blair to sort out who said what.

"It was a hotel or motel room," Janelle stated. "Two rooms, actually; but the bedroom area was open to the living room part, there weren't any doors that closed in between. But the windows were covered with heavy drapes, and we weren't allowed to open them. We never saw outside; at least I didn't."

"Me either," put in Rachel.

"We could have been up 20 stories or on the ground floor...and it might have been any place in Cascade."

"I think you might know more than you realize," Sandburg encouraged. "What were the furnishings like? Cheap? Nice? Carpeting clean? Was there fancy soap or shampoo in the bathroom? Could you hear traffic noises, or noises outside the room that might indicate whether you were inside a high-rise or on the ground?"

"I didn't hear any traffic noise, I mean not up close," Rachel said, shaking her head. "Or people walking outside, or anything like that. It felt...quiet. So I'd guess we were up above street level."

Janelle brightened. "It was clean," she said decisively. "Good quality carpet, the towels were plain but thick. I don't remember that there was any logo or anything like that on them...There were bottles of conditioner and shampoo and hand lotion – oh!"

"What is it?" Jim inquired quickly. "You remembered something?"

The dark-haired girl nodded. "The little bottles – they had an S with a wreath-thing around it. Isn't that what the Sheraton uses on their stuff?"

A wide grin spread across Sandburg's face. _They slipped up!_ he exulted inwardly. _Finally_ _a slipup!_ "Yes, it is," he said aloud. "That's great!"

Jim was smiling too. "That's very good, Miss Barrett," he congratulated. "Did either of you overhear any conversations that might help you identify your kidnappers? You mentioned they talked to someone on the phone?"

"A couple of times," Rachel said. "Once or twice to call for someone else to take his place, and once, I think he – our guard – thought we were asleep. We were in the bedroom and he was out in the other room. He called someone else. When I heard him talking, I slipped out of bed and crept over closer to the doorway."

"And..?"

"He was reporting to someone. Someone in authority over him. And, I guess, getting orders. But..." Rachel's pretty face scrunched in a frown, "I don't think he liked what he was told. I think that's when he decided to let us go," she added. "He kept saying 'no, no,' and 'I don't know if that's a good idea,' things like that. And then he said "I didn't agree to anything like that.' I was scared, then," she admitted. "I thought we were going to be killed."

"But then we were blindfolded again and taken to the car and brought back here," Janelle said.

Further questioning elicited nothing more of importance, and the detectives rose to leave.

"Are we going to have to talk to anyone else about this?" Janelle inquired plaintively.

Ellison tried to look reassuring. "Well, since you were kidnapped, the FBI was called in," he explained. "Their agents might want to interview you." At her dismayed expression, he added, "but we'll send them our report; that might be all they need. Thank you, ladies, very much. If you think of anything else, please call either of us." He handed each girl a card with his and Sandburg's telephone numbers on it.

"Thank you, detectives; you've been very kind," Madelyn Clarke said politely. _But now please leave,_ was the unspoken dismissal, and Ellison and Sandburg quickly excused themselves.

###

"The Sheraton!" Blair crowed, when they were in Jim's truck once more.

Jim grinned wolfishly. "There are only two in Cascade," he noted. "Sheraton East and the one on the Sound. Any preference as to which one we visit first, Chief?"

Sandburg took a coin from his pocket. "Heads we go East, tails the Sound," he said, and flipped it.

#####

" _A captain bold from Halifax, who dwelt in country quarters,_

 _Seduced a maid who hanged herself one morning in her garters._

 _His wicked conscience smited him, he lost his stomach daily._

 _He took to drinking ratafia and thought upon Miss Bailey._

 _Oh, Miss Bailey – unfortunate Miss Bailey-y-y-y-y-y-y!"_

Blair was taking a pre-dinner shower and singing at the top of his lungs, evidently feeling somewhat heartened by the progress they'd made on the 'Mother Goose' case that day. As a general rule, Blair only warbled in the shower when he was feeling happy – or at least, not _unhappy_. Jim, keeping an eye on the chicken breasts broiling in the oven, winced as his roommate's usually melodic baritone scaled new, uncharted heights on the last word.

They had work to do, no doubt of that, but at least they had a starting place now: the records of the Sheraton Hotels' occupants the past few days. The management of both hotels had been quite willing to help in any way possible, when approached, and had opened their records without hesitation.

The sheer quantity of information was daunting; Blair and Jim hoped to split it with Zielinski and perhaps some of the others, with the detectives from Major Crimes taking the east-side hotel. They still didn't know quite what they were looking for, but narrowing the field could only help, and the general consensus was that families with children or elderly couples from out of state probably were not what they were seeking, and could be eliminated. But others – and this included all the telephone calls made or received by each room – had to be checked. From the girls' descriptions, they knew it had to be a certain type of room, which helped narrow the search even more.

The saga of Miss Bailey came to a mercifully quick end, the water shut off, and Jim hastened to finish setting the table for dinner, knowing Blair would be out of the bathroom soon. It took the younger man awhile to get his hair dry, so if Jim timed things right, everything ought to be on the table ready to eat at the same time his partner was ready to sit down and eat it.

###

"I had another idea," Blair announced, cutting off a piece of chicken and popping it into his mouth.

Jim eyed him warily over his wine glass, but raised an inquiring eyebrow. Curiosity outweighed caution.

"I was thinking that there is absolutely no reason to believe that the chefs' convention is a target – and probably the trade delegation isn't, either. But the Miss Cascade contest, now that's a highly visible, highly publicized event, right?"

"Right."

"So – going at this from another angle, rather than trying to figure out how someone would disrupt it, I tried to think who might want to."

"Profiling? Good for you, Chief." Blair had talent and good instincts when it came to profiling, as well as some formal training. "So, who? Someone who wanted to discredit it, for some political reason? People who don't approve of beauty contests; the Fem-Libbers?"

"Possible. Any other ideas?" From Blair's dancing eyes, it was evident that he had something else in mind.

"Someone who has a grudge against one of the contestants or the judges?"

"Closer." The twinkle in the sea-blue eyes brightened.

"Okay, Einstein, I know you've got something up your sleeve. Let's hear it."

"Who would be the most likely to have a whole lot of resentment against a beauty pageant, Jim?" Blair waited for the light to dawn, wiggling his fingers in a beckoning gesture.

Dawn came up like thunder. "Someone who DIDN'T make it in!"

Sandburg's smile was incandescent. "Give the man a big purple teddy bear!" he exclaimed in his best imitation of a carnival barker.

"So we check out those who didn't make the cut? Jesus, Chief, that could be hundreds of people!"

"Well, if we add in our other likely variables something might shake out!"

Ellison blew out a breath, foreseeing interminable hours of research looming ahead. "Do we have plenty of aspirin?"

#####

Their search of the hotel records stretched out until midnight, when Jim declared he was no longer able to focus his eyes. He had made some telephone calls regarding participants in the Miss Cascade pageant, and had tentatively scheduled interviews for the following day to get detailed lists from the 'feeder' contests, before settling in to assist Blair with the hotel paperwork. They had both been downing coffee and – as Jim had predicted – aspirin all evening.

"Let's call it a night," Blair sighed. "There's way more than we can do in one sitting, and I'm not as young as I once was. How'd I ever manage to pull all those all-nighters in college, anyway?"

Jim ignored the rhetorical question; he knew his partner was perfectly capable of pulling long hours if he needed to. But there wasn't a need at the moment. "Sounds good, Chief. We've got some leads to follow tomorrow and nothing we can do tonight except sift through more of these hotel registrations and phone logs." He got to his feet and stretched, feeling the _snap-crackle-pop_ of tendons releasing in his back.

"You aren't feeling that 'urgency' hunch right now?" Blair gazed up tiredly from his seat on the floor next to the coffee table, which was completely covered with sheets of paper.

Ellison thought about it. "Not exactly," he said at last. "I guess I feel like we're on the right track. I know we need to get on those interviews tomorrow, but...that 'do it right now!' feeling is gone. For the moment." He quirked a smile. "I think we can have time to sleep."

Blair bent forward and rested his head on a stack of paper. "Okay," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "G'night."

Jim laughed, grabbed his partner's upper arms and hauled him to his feet, giving him a little shake. "Go to bed!"

#####

When notified of the multitude of hotel records and other paperwork there was to go through, the whole task force of detectives was drafted to help. Zielinski, Reeves and Clayton took the records from the Sheraton-on-the-Sound; Morales and Gaines offered to help Jim go through the beauty pageant contestants who had not made it to the final level for Miss Cascade. With the Miss Cascade contest less than a week away, there was a sudden hope that things might be coming to a head – especially given the release of the kidnapped 'escorts,' which was beginning to look like rebellion in the ranks. A rebellion which might mean absolutely nothing – or might precipitate a reaction.

They took over a conference room on the fourth floor of the precinct, and spread out files and papers on two large tables. Debra Reeves spent more time there than at her regular work with the fire department. Earl Gaines cancelled football practice with his inner-city kids. Tom Chapman assigned a subordinate to his Animal Control runs. Kevin Butler was excused by his captain from patrol duty. And Sandburg and Ellison essentially moved in, lock, stock and barrel, only occasionally going home to the loft to catch a few hours of sleep, or outside to take a quick walk around the block in an attempt to get some fresh air.

They were all experienced at this sort of work, and it went more smoothly than they had any right to expect – but page after page of names and telephone numbers and personal data was pored over and gone through, and compared for correlations and still there wasn't anything that shrieked 'HERE! THIS ONE!' at them. It was discouraging, but there didn't seem to be any shortcuts; all they could do was slog forward through the stacks of paper.

The day before the pageant they were still at it, desperately searching for anything to give them an opening, a clue. Although they realized that this whole effort might be a wild goose chase, to make a dreadful pun, they didn't dare abandon it, on the off chance that it wasn't. Heightened security had been arranged for the pageant – as well as the Spanish trade delegation and the chefs' convention – but they wanted to take no chances.

Earl Gaines scanned his portion of the list of 'failed' beauty pageant contestants, comparing telephone numbers against the lists from the hotels. He muttered something softly under his breath and flipped back a page or two. His eyes narrowed, and he looked sharply at the papers again. "Guys...I've got a match."

Heads lifted around the table. "Who?" "What is it?"

"This one." Earl displayed the list, tapping the number in question. "Darla Meissner. According to the records, the occupants of room 518 called her number four times during the time the escort girls were gone, and received two calls from her. There are a couple more calls to her the day after they were released. Whoever is in that room is still listed as being there," he added. "They haven't checked out yet. No calls today."

"Who's it registered to?" Zielinski demanded.

"A Will Shipley, second occupant Ryan Burbridge. Local home addresses, both of 'em."

"Doesn't that strike you as odd – why would locals go stay at a hotel?" Linda Morales queried.

Jim grinned wryly. "Considering that they kidnapped two hookers, it's not too surprising," he said, and Morales blushed scarlet. "But it's worth pursuing. What's Meissner's bio, Gaines?"

Earl was reading, a frown creasing his forehead. "She's the oldest of three – two brothers, one at Rainier, the other in junior high. Age 26; bachelor's degree in business with a minor in – uh-huh, psych. Works freelance PR and advertising. Lives alone." He kept reading silently for a moment, then added, "Volunteers at a Boys and Girls Club as a gymnastics coach."

"In other words, she probably is quite literate and well-read, so she conceivably would be familiar with nursery rhymes," Blair observed, "and with that psych training, she can probably manipulate people – is aware of what buttons to push, I mean, to get them to do what she wants. PR work trains you to put a desired spin on things. And she'd be able to influence her brothers, maybe their friends – and with the Boys and Girls Club angle..."

"Younger brothers in the right places – access to college kids and younger ones both," Zielinski said.

Ellison had risen to read over Earl's shoulder. "Pretty, but she's on the upper-age side for that pageant," he commented, looking at the picture. "Probably a last-chance sort of thing for her to enter." He glanced around the table, making eye contact with the others. "Let's see what we can come up with on her, her activities, her brothers' activities – and let's do it pronto!"

They set to work again, this time concentrating on Darla Meissner. Phone records were requested, surveillance was set up near her residence, Gaines, Chapman, Morales and Reeves set out in pairs for Rainier University and Timber Ridge Middle School, to interview brothers Evan and Justin. Butler headed for the Boys and Girls Club, Clayton to the Sheraton, hoping to find Shipley and Burbridge still in residence. Ellison and Sandburg went upstairs to Major Crimes to report in to their captain.

#####

"Jim, Blair – I'd like you to come watch this interview." It was Chuck Clayton, standing in the doorway to the bullpen. "I brought Shipley and Burbridge in for questioning, and I think they're ready to talk."

The two Major Crimes detectives rose from their desks and followed Clayton to the elevator without hesitation. They took their places in an observation room which adjoined two interrogation rooms, one on each side. Will Shipley was in one, Ryan Burbridge in the other. Both were mid-twenties guys, dressed in baggy jeans and oversized t-shirts, and both wearing scared expressions. Clayton went into the room with Shipley first. Sandburg and Ellison sat down in the observation room, concealed behind the one-way mirrors.

After the routine time/date/case information, Clayton began the questioning – and it was only a matter of a few minutes before Will was telling everything he knew.

"Man – I mean, Detective – we thought it was just, like, another prank, ya know? Grab the hookers, keep 'em for a couple days and then let 'em go. We were careful – we didn't let them ever see us, so we couldn't be identified. And we didn't – you know – do anything to them." He blushed, then sighed. "They were so pretty, you know? I didn't like scaring them."

"Was it your own idea to kidnap these women?"

"No, it was Evan – Evan Meissner's – sister, Darla. She's been sorta organizing this bunch of tricks, ya know, that matched nursery rhymes. She had little kids doing stunts...and her other brother, Justin's friends, did prank calls...It was funny! Ours was supposed to be the Queen of Hearts." He chuckled weakly. "We stole some tarts, ya know? Maybe it wasn't as funny as we thought..."

"Mmmm-hmmm," Clayton nodded. "So Ms. Meissner asked you to do this?"

"Paid us to do it," Shipley corrected. "She paid us each $500, and paid for the hotel room."

"And what were you supposed to do after you kidnapped Ms. Girard and Ms. Barrett?"

"Well..." Here Will looked uncomfortable. "She – Darla – SAID that we would just hold them a couple of days and then let them go. And I was all right with that, ya know?"

"Yes?"

"But then – after we took them, she changed her mind. She said that she wanted us to take them out into the Cascade Forest Preserve and leave them there!" Shipley sounded appalled. "She didn't care if they were found, or made their way out, or anything. She didn't care if they died, man!"

"And you didn't agree with this?"

"NO!" Shipley sighed. "I kept telling her that I didn't think it was a good idea, but she didn't seem to listen. So after I hung up, I talked to Ryan and we decided that we didn't want any part of it, if that's where it was going. So we took them back. We were really careful, we thought...not careful enough, huh?"

"Not quite," Clayton agreed mildly.

In the observation room, Blair was bouncing lightly in his seat and muttering "Yes! Yes!" beneath his breath. Jim, grinning with relief, slung an arm over his Guide's shoulders and squeezed. At last – at long last, they were finally getting somewhere with this exasperating case!

#####

Ryan Burbridge's interview agreed with Will Shipley's, in al respects. While the statements were being typed up, and Burbridge and Shipley were waiting to read and sign them, Ellison and Sandburg returned to Major Crimes, but they had barely settled down at their desks when Jim's phone rang.

"Ellison!"

" _Jim, it's Earl. Morales and I just talked to Evan Meissner, and boy, did we hit pay dirt!"_

"Tell me!"

" _He implicated his sister every which way from Sunday – We asked him if we could tape the conversation when he said he was willing to tell us – so I'll bring the tape in; it's solid, even if he didn't do it at the station. He said he'd sign the statement when we have it documented, and I have no reason not to believe him. Have you heard from anyone else?"_

"Clayton brought in Burbridge and Shipley. They confessed to the kidnapping and ID'd Darla Meissner as the person who hired them to do it."

" _Hot damn!"_ Gaines exulted. _"Then I'm going to call in Butler and Chapman; they probably don't need to talk to Justin Meissner after all. We'll be there shortly."_

"Earl? Tell your grandmother to plan on us for Sunday dinner; looks like we'll be getting some well-deserved free time!"

Gaines' rich laugh rolled through the connection. " _Will do. Bye!"_

Jim set down the receiver and looked at his partner with triumph in his eyes. "Gaines talked to the older brother. He's got a confession on tape he's bringing in."

Sandburg's eyes lit up. "Yessssss!" he crowed, and reached to slap palms with Jim in a high-five.

###

Earl set down the tape recorder and switched it on as Jim, Blair, Linda Morales and Lieutenant Zielinski hovered behind him. "Just listen to this," Gaines said happily.

They waited impatiently through the usual formalities of Gaines stating his name, the date, and the name of his interviewee. Then a new voice came on.

" _My name is Evan Meissner, I'm 21 years old and I attend Rainier University. I swear that I am offering this information voluntarily and am under no coercion. For the past several weeks I have been involved with incidents instigated by my sister, Darla Meissner, and I am willing to answer questions about them."_

Gaines' voice: _"When exactly did these incidents start, Mr. Meissner?"_

" _Uh...almost two months ago, now. Darla said they were just pranks – tricks. Something funny to do. And she asked if Justin – that's my younger brother – would like to help, and if maybe our friends would, too. It was cute at first, a cute idea, I mean – I mean, it sounded cute when she told us about it_." The young man's voice faltered. _"It didn't stay cute."_

On it went, with Evan Meissner explaining how they'd pulled off the Peeping Tom incidents, gluing the clock hands, the rowing shells at Rainier _. "My frat brothers were in on it,"_ Meissner said. _"They really got into it, some of them. And Justin's friends got a big kick out of the telephone pranks."_ His voice saddened. _"But when she hurt the little pups and drowned the cat, I wanted out, right then – and the kids did too. We didn't like it any more. And she started saying she was going to ruin the Miss Cascade pageant because she didn't make the final cut, that she was going to hurt them...make them pay for it, she said. She got a job helping with the PR for it so she could be there all the time... I didn't want to have anything more to do with it, and I told Justin and his friends to stop, too."_

" _But someone was still helping her?"_ Earl queried.

" _Yeah – some of the guys at school. She was paying them by then,"_ Evan said miserably. _"And I think they put her in contact with...with other people. You know – people who would do...anything, almost, for a few bucks for booze or drugs."_ He sighed. _"She didn't need us any more."_

" _Were you in on the kidnapping of the girls? Or the fire in the apartment building?"_

" _NO! NO! Neither of those! I swear! I don't think any of us had anything to do with that fire – at least, I hope not. The kidnapping, though – that was done by a couple of the guys at school, Ryan and Will – but then I guess they changed their minds."_

" _Ryan Burbridge and Will Shipley?"_ Gaines prompted.

" _Yeah."_ A pause. _"The fire – Darla said it wasn't supposed to hurt anyone, just scare people. But...it must have gotten out of hand, spread too fast. I was just sick when I heard about the little kids and the babysitter."_ He sounded close to tears now.

" _Fires can do that,"_ Gaines said evenly.

" _Am I under arrest?"_

" _Not yet. What else can you tell me?"_

But Evan Meissner couldn't tell them much more; he had removed himself from his sister's orbit in the past two weeks, refusing to answer her telephone calls and not allowing his younger brother to be contacted by her either.

" _Evan, why didn't you go to your parents, or the police?"_ Gaines asked gently.

" _I thought she'd...stop, you know? I didn't think she would take anything this far."_

" _Do you know what she has planned for the Miss Cascade pageant?"_

" _Not for sure. But I think she's learned how to make bombs – explosive devices,"_ Evan mumbled. _"She – she wants to...ruin it, hurt the contestants. But I don't know for sure – I swear, man!"_

"Oh my LORD!" Blair was pale. "She's going to plant a bomb in the Auditorium! And if she's working PR for them, she'd have free access to it – to all parts of it!"

"Gaines, did you contact the Bomb Squad?" Jim was reaching for the telephone, but Earl nodded.

"Got 'em on it as soon as I finished the interview. But that's a big place to search."

"They're having a dress rehearsal there TODAY!" Blair recalled. "She doesn't have to wait until tomorrow night, it might be any time. Those rehearsals could go on, like, all night!"

Jim stood up. "I'm going over there," he said curtly. "Maybe I can grab Joel and he can give the Bomb Squad a hand."

Blair was also on his feet. "Right with you—" he began, but Jim was shaking his head.

"Chief, I want you to do something else. Could you and – Mike, maybe? – go over to Darla's house and take her into custody?"

"But—" Sandburg automatically started to protest this request. "I should be with—"

"I can handle it," Jim said quietly. "And I think you deserve to be in on the arrest It was your theory that broke it open."

"I agree," Lt. Zielinski said firmly. "Come on, Sandburg, let's go talk to somebody about a warrant."

#####

When Sandburg and Zielinski rang the doorbell of Darla Meissner's duplex they weren't quite sure what they expected. What they got was an attractive young woman who calmly accepted their presence and allowed them into her living room after viewing their ID.

Blair swallowed hard. He'd looked at the picture in Darla's bio, and had noticed that with her blonde hair and blue eyes and etched features, she bore a slight resemblance to Alex Barnes. Probably no one else would pick up on it, except maybe Jim, but it made him feel slightly unsettled. He was beginning to wonder if pretty blondes had a predilection for criminal insanity He was suddenly very glad that Mike Zielinski was with him, since Jim was not.

"Ms. Meissner, we would like to ask you to accompany us to the police station," Zielinski was saying now. "We have some questions in relation to several recent incidents..."

Blair was looking around as Lt. Zielinski spoke, and suddenly he saw something that made his blood run cold. On a table in the middle of the room there lay what appeared to be printed instructions. Blair drifted nearer, narrowing his eyes and wishing momentarily for Jim's Sentinel sight. _Oh yeah...there we go._ Damnably clear now – instructions on how to create explosives using C-4 plastique, a detonator, a timer...And beside it, a children's book of nursery rhymes.

"I don't understand," Darla was saying sweetly. "What would I know about any of these...incidents? Of course I've been involved with the Miss Cascade pageant; first I was a contestant – and now I'm helping with PR—"

"Ms. Meissner, we've talked to your brother Evan," Blair said gently. "And we've questioned Will Shipley and Ryan Burbridge, who both state that you hired them to perform a kidnapping. And then there are these." He picked up the offending papers and held them where both Darla and Mike Zielinski could see them.

The lieutenant glanced at them and nodded somberly. "Go ahead," he muttered.

Blair drew out his handcuffs and secured her. She did not resist.

"Darla Meissner, you are under arrest for the crimes of accessory to arson, accessory to manslaughter, malicious mischief..." Sandburg listed the charges, knowing that more would eventually be added, and recited the Miranda rights, watching their prisoner closely. She stood quietly, her eyes fixed on him attentively, but he had a feeling she wasn't processing what he was saying. "Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?"

"Yes, I understand. Yes, I'll speak to you." There was no hesitation, but still, Sandburg had the uneasy feeling that although the lights seemed to be on, there was no one home under that calm visage. He looked at Zielinski, who shrugged and made a 'go on' gesture. The woman had _said_ she understood; they were legally okay.

"Miss Meissner, did you place an explosive device – a bomb – in the Cascade Civic Auditorium?"

"Maybe..." The smile dimmed. "They didn't want me...they'll be sorry."

"If you did so, could you tell me where you put it?" Blair held his breath.

She smiled dreamily. "Hickory, dickory dock," she chanted, "The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck...eight – it was too late. Hickory, dickory, dock." Staring past him, Darla began humming quietly to herself.

Sandburg looked at his watch and felt his heart rate escalate. It was just past 7:30. Mike Zielinski was mirroring his actions, and Blair heard him curse softly. Yanking his phone from his pocket, Blair hit Speed Dial 1 and walked outside to stand by the front door.

" _Yeah, Ellison!"_

"Jim! There's something there – set to go off at eight!"

" _You sure of that, Chief? We haven't found anything—"_

"She's got printed-out instructions to make bombs here, from the Internet, sitting right on the table. And when I asked her if she planted one, straight out, she just did the 'Hickory, Dickory' rhyme, man, but she said 'The clock struck eight, it was too late'! It's...Jim, she's totally wacko, ya know? But I'm sure!"

" _Okay, we'll do our best."_

"Jim! Listen for a timer – and secondarily, scent for C-4; that's what it looks like she probably used! And look for it where the contestants would gather; that's my best guess – dressing rooms, backstage, onstage, that sort of thing."

" _Hang on."_ Momentarily, Ellison's voice was directed away from the phone, and Blair heard him yelling instructions to someone. Then he returned his attention to his partner. _"Got it. Joel's already here, and we'll get the Bomb Squad on it. And we'll get the building evacuated right away. Shit, 25 minutes...well, we'll find it; we have to. You coming?"_

"As soon as the uniforms get here to take her into custody," Blair assured him fervently. "DAMN, I wish I was there with you!"

" _It'll be okay. Don't worry."_ Ellison's voice warmed with a reminiscent chuckle _. "Remind you of the Switchman case, Chief? Me listening for a bomb timer and you holding a woman at gunpoint?"_

"Please tell me I'm not gonna have to punch out another woman!" Blair entreated. "Besides, she's cuffed, and Zielinski's here too. He can punch her out, if it comes to that."

" _See you in a bit."_ Jim was ready to end the conversation and get to work.

"Jim? Be careful – please?!"

" _Always, Chief."_

 _Right – like always!_ _SO reassuring – not!_ Blair squeezed his eyes shut. "Jim...I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't – don't get dead. Okay?" It was trite, it was silly – but Blair had read it in a story once, and had latched onto the phrase, claiming it was _exactly_ what he felt every time his beloved Sentinel charged off into battle – with or without his Guide at his side. Jim laughed at him, but he'd gotten used to hearing Blair say it, too. _Don't get dead, Jim...please!_

Jim's low chuckle reached his ears _. "I won't, Blair. See you soon."_

The soft click that signaled the end of their conversation hammered itself into Blair's suddenly-aching head _. Blair...he called me 'Blair.' He only calls me that when...when it's really important. When it's serious. Oh God, Jim...please don't get dead, man! And don't get hurt, either!_

He pocketed his phone, then went back inside. "Darla – would you tell me where you put it? The bomb? The explosives?" Although his voice was steady and calm, inside he was screaming – screaming at this deluded, delusional, hateful woman, screaming, _TELL ME! Tell me where you put it!_ at Darla, and yelling _Hurry up! GET here so I can turn her over to you and leave! I've got to get to Jim!_ at their backup patrol:He put all his persuasive powers into his words. "We're going to find them anyway, Darla – why not tell me now?"

"Blair?" Mike put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll do this. Go on, get outta here and get over to the Auditorium. I know you want to be with Ellison. I'll stay here and wait for the patrol car."

Zielinski didn't have to offer twice.

#####

Jim put his cell phone away, mentally repeating his promise not to 'get dead' since that would definitely tick off Blair. He didn't need a ticked-off partner, after all, so he'd do his best to comply. He looked around, noting that the members of the Bomb Squad were hard at work, either firmly escorting the last civilians out of the building, or starting to go over the auditorium inch by inch in search of explosives. Only Joel Taggart remained, waiting patiently for his fellow Major Crimes detective.

"As Sandburg just reminded me, the most logical places to look are where the contestants would have gathered." Ellison squared his shoulders. "Let's move down into the dressing rooms."

Taggart nodded agreement and they started to work their way downstairs.

Jim couldn't use Joel as he did Blair, to ground himself on so that he could expand his senses when and where necessary, but he didn't _always_ need someone to anchor him, after all. He could do it himself; it just took a little more concentration. Blair had said to use scent and hearing, as well as sight, to locate the bomb or bombs. That left two senses to use to keep from zoning: taste and touch.

Blessing his roommate's forethought for providing it, Jim pulled a stick of gum from his pocket and removed the wrapper, then folded the minty confection into his mouth. He'd given up the gum-chewing habit along with his moustache and goatee and earring; the unaccustomed taste was sharp on his tongue. But he was sure that it would keep him in the here-and-now.

Cautiously, the Sentinel notched up the dials, filtering out the sounds of the other police officers searching the big building, screening out Taggart's heavy breathing beside him – Joel was staying surprisingly close; had Blair left standing instructions with the denizens of Major Crimes for times he was absent from Jim's side? Filtering out the creaks and groans of the building itself and listening, searching, seeking a tell-tale ticking sound that might pinpoint a timer counting down the seconds until eight o'clock.

The gum in his mouth altered his sense of smell somewhat, tainting everything with a tang of spearmint. With a finesse he'd once despaired of achieving, Jim let his nostrils flare and take in the myriad scents present all around him while filtering out the gum's influence _. Identify it...catalog it...dismiss it; you don't need it. Identify...catalog...dismiss._ His Guide's soft voice echoed in the back of his mind as Ellison analyzed, mentally tagged, and discarded aromas, fragrances, and stenches alike, questing for the significant, recognizable odor of C-4.

Ellison and Taggart descended to the lower level where the dressing rooms were, and Jim groaned silently. This was going to be worse – it was cramped as to space, crammed with women's clothing ranging from swimsuits and underwear to evening gowns and everything in between, and choked with the scents of perfumes, hair styling products, body lotions, antiperspirants, mouthwash...anything and everything that might assist in creating a perfect Miss Cascade.

"Anything?" Joel paused beside him and to Jim's surprise, laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. He cut his eyes sharply towards the other man. Blair _had_ been cueing them, that's all there was to it. But Taggart wasn't looking at him; he was staring sharply at their surroundings.

"Not so far. Let's start emptying closets and drawers and stuff. We've got fifteen minutes" Jim moved towards the long bank of lighted makeup tables with grim purpose.

###

"Joel!" Jim's voice was quiet, but insistent.

"Got something?" Taggart stepped to his side. "Oh yeah, you do, all right. Hello there, baby!" He gazed at the wadded grayish-white lump crammed behind a tiny access panel in a closet.

"How the hell did she get it wedged in there like that?" Jim glanced at his wristwatch and felt his stomach drop. It was seven minutes until eight, and he could hear the timer's ticking, almost inaudible even to him. "Can you get it disarmed before...?"

The bigger man sighed. "I can try, but nothing's certain. And if I can't get it out, we can't get it in a box. If I can't get it disarmed in five minutes, Jim, we'll have to shield it and hope for the best, and get out of range! Now – get the rest of the guys outta here. And you ought to go, too."

"Not a chance. I'm not leaving you alone with this." Ellison lifted his radio and keyed it to life. "Captain Banks? Ellison here. We've found it – pass the word to clear the building, NOW."

#####

Blair braked his car haphazardly in the middle of the street – amidst all the other police and emergency vehicles – and flung himself out, barely remembering to turn off the motor and slam the door shut. He raced towards the auditorium, holding up his badge in one hand and yelling "Sandburg! Major Crimes!" again and again as he ran past barricades and any officer who tried to waylay him.

"SANDBURG! Over here!" Simon Banks' characteristic bellow cut through the cacophony, and Blair saw the captain gesticulating wildly, signaling him over. Veering course, he put on a burst of speed, and nearly collided with Simon, who automatically reached out both hands to steady him.

"J-Jim! Where's Jim? Did they find it?" Blair panted, gripping Banks' arm. "Did you get everyone out of the building okay? Where's Jim – and Joel?"

"Sandburg – Blair—" There was concern in the captain's dark eyes, and he laid his free hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Yes, we evacuated the building, other than… No, they haven't come out yet. Jim radioed that they'd found the device, and Joel's trying to disarm it. That was about five minutes ago."

"They're still in there?" Sandburg clutched at the muscular arm. "But – but it's like two minutes until eight, Simon! They've got to get out! They'll be too close-"

"If Joel can't get it disarmed, Jim said they'd take steps to shield it as much as possible, contain the blast. They took in a couple of lead-lined wraps, Sandburg, and a box. It'll be fine. They know what they're doing." Banks could see he wasn't convincing the distraught young detective, try though he might. He squeezed Blair's shoulder, attempting to convey sympathy and comfort.

"But...no, Simon, no, they can't be in there..." Sandburg turned anguished eyes towards the auditorium. "They've gotta get OUT, man..." He looked down at his wristwatch. "Jim! Joel! Get OUT of there!" he suddenly screamed – and even as he did so, there was a dull _THWUMP!_ noise from deep inside the building, and the ground beneath their feet trembled slightly. Shouts and cries arose from the crowd of police, emergency personnel and onlookers. Glass shivered from some of the building's windows, falling to the concrete where it disintegrated into lethally sharp shards, but other than that, no outward damage showed.

But how much had happened _inside_?.

"NO! JIM! JIM!" Abruptly Blair wrenched himself out of Simon's grasp and started pushing towards the entrance doors. "JIM!"

Simon caught him in two strides and jerked him to a stop. "Sandburg! Stand down, detective!" he barked, yanking the younger man around to face him. His gaze softened as he took in Blair's chalk-white, agonized countenance. "Blair – hang on, son," he muttered. "Don't do this to yourself. Please." He shook him gently. "Sandburg, are you listening to me?"

Blair turned his head away, and it was quite evident that he was not paying the slightest bit of attention to his superior officer; his luminous eyes were fixed on the building with painful intensity and his breath was beginning to come in sharp gasps.

Still gripping Sandburg's arm tightly, Banks raised his two-way radio and keyed it. "Taggart! Ellison! Report!" he barked. "Are you two okay? Ellison, damnit, get your butt out here on the double; your partner's gonna have a heart attack if you don't show up soon!"

It might have sounded humorous, but none of the officers surrounding them laughed. One or two stepped closer to Banks and Sandburg, trying to offer support. "They'll get out okay – it'll be all right," came encouraging murmurs from the nearest. "Ellison can get outta anything...Taggart's as good as they come..."

"Taggart! Ellison! Respond!" There was no reply to Banks' repeated demands.

Blair tried to control his breathing, without much success. It wasn't having a _heart_ attack in front of his peers that concerned him; it was having a _panic_ attack – and that was all too likely – and it would be damned embarrassing, to say the least. He concentrated fiercely on the doorway, willing Joel and Jim to miraculously appear. Seconds ticked past, turning inexorably into minutes, and he began to feel lightheaded as hyperventilation set in. And then...

"LOOK! Look there! There they are!" Shouts and cheers erupted from the front of the throng, and all eyes snapped to the doors where two figures, huddled together beneath a heavy lead-lined tarp and leaning on each other for support, made their stumbling way out of the building. They were covered with dirt and dust and other debris; blood was visible on one of Taggart's shirt sleeves.

'JIM!" There was no stopping Blair Sandburg as he hurled himself forward – but then, no one tried. Captain Banks was hard on his heels, but made no move to deter him; he was in nearly as much of a hurry to reach his men as Sandburg was.

"Jim!" Reaching his goal, Blair tucked himself beneath his Sentinel's shoulder and offered his support. Simon and some others were already easing the heavy blanket off and attending to Taggart, wisely leaving Jim to Blair's care. Blair locked his knees against his partner's weight and helped him further from the unstable building – but when they reached the nearest row of parked cars, he propped Jim against a convenient SUV and burst into speech.

"Damn you, Jim Ellison, what did you think you were doing? Why didn't you get outta there? How bad was the damage? Where was it located? Are you hurt anywhere? Was Joel hurt? Oh God..." Suddenly overcome, Blair clutched his friend tightly, quivering with shock and still gasping for breath.

Jim sagged wearily against the SUV, and managed to respond to his urgent importuning. "It was in...dressing room. We couldn't...get it defused...in time. Had to...contain it. And no – I'm not hurt. The blast just tossed me against a wall – well, kinda through it, I guess. It might have been broken anyway, though. It's okay, Chief, it's..." He broke off, suddenly worried as Blair shivered and let out a choked gasp. "Hey, hey now, what's wrong?" Instinctively, he pulled Blair closer, trying to impart reassurance, disregarding his own exhaustion. "Breathe now, c'mon Chief. It's all right – I'm all right." He patted Blair's back soothingly, waiting for his hiccup-y breathing pattern to smooth out. "You get Darla okay?" he asked after a few seconds, when it seemed that Blair was starting to recover his composure.

"Yeah. Zielinski stayed there – he radioed me that the uniforms took her in, while I was on the way here. It was like she just couldn't conceive of getting caught; man – everything was sitting out in the open. She'll get a psych evaluation – there's no way she'll stand trial, worse luck!" Sandburg drew in a long, shuddering breath and looked up, meeting his partner's concerned gaze with one equally anxious. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine – and I think we'd better consider ourselves back on duty," Jim added with a grimace. "Here comes Simon." He straightened up, easing away from the support of the SUV, but kept an arm across Sandburg's shoulders – both as a prop for himself and comfort for his Guide.

Banks' gaze was sharp with concern. "You all right, Jim? Sandburg, everything okay? Need the paramedics?"

"We're good, sir," Blair answered for them both.

"Just a few bruises and a lot of dirt," Jim added. "I take it the Bomb Squad is taking over from here?"

Simon nodded. " We may as well head for the station. I'd say you two have some report-writing to do." He smiled maliciously as both men groaned.

"Is Joel okay?" Blair asked anxiously as the three detectives fell into step, heading for their cars.

"His arm was scraped by a piece of concrete, but it's just surface. The EMTs slapped a bandage on him and called it good," Simon said with a grin. "He's already back down there with the rest of his old squad." He sobered a little and lowered his voice slightly, careful not to be overheard. "Good work, you two. I know you didn't do it alone, but you, Sandburg, provided the key, and Jim, well...you know what you did, especially just now. Good job," he ended, more loudly. "Now, about those reports..."

Blair groaned again – but he was smiling.

#####

 _Two days later – Major Crimes bullpen_

Ellison and Sandburg eyed their desks warily as they crossed the room. Alien objects seemed to have mysteriously appeared. On Jim's blotter sat a large stuffed fabric goose, complete with several plastic eggs. Next to Blair's telephone was a rectangular package, nicely wrapped and adorned with a ribbon. As if at a secret signal, their grinning colleagues gathered around them.

"Guys, you didn't...what is this?" Blair looked to his partner, but Jim merely shrugged, rolled his eyes in resignation, sat down and absently patted his goose on its head. "What's this?" Sandburg repeated, hefting the package.

"Better open it, Sandy, don't you think? Pressies are meant to be opened."

Cautiously, Blair untied the ribbon and slid the gift wrap off – and sank into his chair, hiding his face in his hands and laughing helplessly. Beside him, Jim cracked up as he saw what it was:

A large, beautifully illustrated hardbound copy of _A Treasury of Mother Goose Rhymes._

The End


End file.
